


Interruptions

by folieafabulous



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal - Fandom
Genre: Cockblocking, Developing Relationship, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Kissblocking, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Hannibal, Will Loves Hannibal, or more accurately.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 10:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folieafabulous/pseuds/folieafabulous
Summary: All Will wants is some alone time with Hannibal —but it would seem that the universe has other plans.





	Interruptions

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt from [wolftrapqueen27](http://wolftrapqueen27.tumblr.com): 
> 
> "Person A gets annoyed when the dog won't leave the room during sexytimes. Person B doesn't understand what all the fuss is about."
> 
> Enjoy!

Hannibal was moving closer to Will.  Will could feel his movement through the couch cushions, hear the slight scuff of his shoes against hardwood. The other man’s leg came into his peripheral.

Hannibal’s head dipped downward, breath tickling against Will’s ear. Will pressed closer.

The pair seemed to breathe in tandem.

Will pushed himself forward, just slightly.  Brushed his nose over Hannibal’s. Watched as the brown eyes before him came into one blurry, watchful iris. A pressing of plush lips, a speeding up of breath —then a sharp set of knocking at the door.

The bodies on the couch froze.

Will peaked open his eyes. Hannibal’s expression was unfazed, yet there was a perceptible sourness to his emotional aura.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Will said, wetting his lips. “Say I’m busy tonight.”

“You intend to decline?”

“Of course.” Will said. “You and I have plans.”

Hannibal removed Will’s hand from his thigh and frowned. He paused a moment, then said,  “You do not have a good track record of saying no to Jack Crawford.”

There was another set of knocks. They were louder this time, more impatient.

The set of Hannibal’s mouth tightened.

A gruff voice yelled from outside, “Will!”

Will shot Hannibal a hasty glance, “Stay right here, okay? I can handle this.”

“As long as I am not needed.”

Will pursed his lips. Hannibal’s line for being ‘needed’ was an abstract, intangible thing —a thing that Will had no time argue the logistics of. Will would just have to take his word at face value, and hope Hannibal didn’t find a reason to believe his help would be ‘necessary.’  

Will shook his head clear, and then his hands. An old habit. He imagined his jitters flying from the tips of his fingers with each shake. He took a deep, unsteady breath.

Will felt better, he told himself. More centred. More ready.

He wrenched open the front door.

Jack was stood on the porch, his expression dark and stormy.  A clear _took you long enough_.

“Jack.”

“Will.” Jack held out a manila folder to him. “We need you.”

Will pursed his lips. Squared his shoulders, and looked away from the folder.  Locked his gaze on the little patch of hair that grew on Jack’s chin. Will focused on the stubble as he spoke.

“Not tonight.”

“Will?” Jack asked.

Will could practically taste his confusion.  His lack of comprehension. Jack, much like Hannibal, was not used to being told ‘no.’

Will’s eyes hadn’t left Jack’s soul patch. His mind ran through all the possibilities of how Jack kept it maintained. Clippers? Shears? And electric shaver?

An image of Bella with delicate silver scissors came into his mind.  Her in a pale blue dressing gown, gently trimming Jack’s hair as he sat at the edge of the tub.

Will flicked his gaze away from the coarse hairs. Away from the tender moment. His eyes fell on the wood of the patio floor.  

“You heard me,” Will said in a quiet voice; maybe Jack would follow suit.

“Have you forgotten what’s in these folders, Will?” Jack pulled out a photo and held it up. A woman with glassy eyes, her shirt ripped open— Will shut his eyes. “These women need your help. Justice. You’re the only person who can give that to them.”

“That’s not true. There are others.”

“You’re the best,” Jack said. “Will, you’re _our_ best.”

Will took a breath. He looked down at his toes, bare, on the wood of his porch. He thought of Hannibal sitting impatiently on his ratty couch, waiting.

“You need to get someone else, Jack.”

Something grabbed his arm. A hand. Jack loomed over Will, muscles constricting. “I didn’t come here to ask if you were feeling up to this, Will. I’m telling you that you are.”

The unexpected contact did something to Will’s brain, like some part of it had been hit.  Like it was buffering for a reaction.

He looked at his arm in clutches.

“Will,” Jack spoke all dark and threatening and composed. “You can read the folder in the car,” and then he was tugging Will full bodied off the porch.

Will’s anger hit him like a wave as he wrestled free. The motion sent Jack staggering forwards, while Will slammed loudly against the porch.

The sound set off a Hannibal-sized fuse in Will’s mind. It had been incredibly loud —there was no doubt that Hannibal would consider himself as needed, now.

“Look, I have company,” Will bit out. “And you can’t just drag me around because I don’t do what you ask.”

“Company?” Jack deadpanned, stepping closer.

“Yes. Impatient company.”

“They will have to manage. This is more important than a family visit.”

“They’re not family,” Will said.  

“Family, friend, it doesn’t matter when there are lives on the line.”

“Also not a friend,” Will said.

Jack’s gaze was harsh.

“Have you somehow forgotten what we do?” Jack barked, “There are lives at stake here, and you want to toss that aside for what —a girl? Really, Will?”

Will bit the inside of his cheek, and was suddenly glad that his father had never been all that involved in his love life growing up (he hadn’t been involved with all that much of Will’s life in general, actually, but that was beside the point). The disapproval rolling off Jack was miserable, unnecessary, and as Will knew, only going to get worse.  

Will braced himself for the news he was about to deliver.  Then, he took a deep breath and spoke, “Look, Jack, this person isn’t—”

Will was cut off by the sound of the door creaking open.

Footsteps sounded behind Will. There was a furrowing in Jack’s brow.

Hannibal played oblivious to the tension in the air.  He spoke smooth as ever, “Evening, Jack. I’ve come to check what is taking Will so long.” As he spoke, Hannibal sidled up close to Will, gently pressing their arms together.

“Hannibal.” Jack’s face was blank, emotionless. “What are you doing here?”

The tension escalated from there.

It grew thick in the air, like ropes. Will could feel them wrap around his neck as Jack pushed the folder at him, felt them constrict his protests died down. Will looked to Hannibal for help.  Smooth, suave and persuasive Hannibal, who offered but a line of protest. The folder was shuffled from hand to hand as Hannibal’s eyes gleamed.

And then, somehow, the folder was open in front of Will. Exposed bodies of women, chests slashed open. Hearts extracted and placed in mouths.

Could it be the Ripper? That question, that uncertainty of ‘who’ would be why Jack thought this deserved a visit.  But no, after just moments of gazing, Will knew instinctively that this was not the Ripper. It couldn’t be. There was something different about this case, about the entire methodology of the process that set this killer apart.

Will gazed at glassy eyes and blood splatters and felt his head spin. He imagined the man behind it. The man who would keep the girls for days before he did it, somewhere close to home.  Chained them up and violated them in unspeakable ways—

And it was in that fact that lay the differential variable. The Ripper would not touch his victims. Not like that —not when he intended their bodies to serve as canvases, vehicles for his art.  

This killer had no such concerns. For him it wasn’t about the art, it was about a stripping and a taking of power in the most ultimate of forms; death, kidnapping and— and Will found himself suddenly back on the porch. Two sets of eyes watching him, intent, quiet, tense. Will could feel the strange formation of the muscles of his face, the hunching in his back which he slowly unwound. He carefully placed his gaze to the floor. Told himself to breathe, to not think of the brushing of sheets and the sound of a loud TV or the weight of another.

In the end, Will had to close his eyes when he choked out what had happened to them before they died. The words burned their way out.

A soft, warm hand found its way to his. A gentle tugging, and pulling, and cradling. Will was guided back into the comfort of the warm indoors and his canine friends.  

Hannibal’s face held more visible emotion than Will had bore witness to before. He brushed a hand down Will’s cheek, then stepped to the door.

“I will be back once I finish with Jack. Rest in the meantime.”

Will just nodded. He stood numbly in the middle of the living room. His head blurred, a mix of his surroundings and sensations that were not quite present.

Will was grateful to not have to participate for the rest of the conversation. He didn’t want to be present for it. Didn’t want to be present for anything at all.

He poured himself a drink.

A strong, dark whiskey from a trip to New Orleans years ago. A full glass tumbler of it. Will drank until he gasped from the burning sensation in his chest.

It was when Will was at his last sips that Hannibal walked through the door. Hannibal’s hair was damp with melted snow and the front of his coat was rumpled slightly.

Will shuffled the glass behind his back. Opened his mouth to crack a joke and test the waters, but of course Hannibal was faster. Always faster when it came to Will.

“You’re drinking,” Hannibal said. His eyes were on the arm wound around Will’s back.

“I am,” Will said in a flat tone.

“An unhealthy coping mechanism.”  
  
It wasn’t untrue. The alcohol made Will’s head feel light and fuzzy and so very far away from the bodies in the folder Jack had brought.

Will pulled the tumbler from his back and quickly downed the rest.  He set the glass down and said, “Out of sight, out of mind?”

Hannibal smiled slightly. Will liked the way his eyes looked when he did. He liked the little crinkles around the edges and how they made him look a little softer, kinder. A little more human.  

Hannibal set about taking off his coat, smoothing the rumpled texture over the back of one of Will’s kitchen chairs. He wore a crisp blue dress shirt beneath a mauve vest, and Will watched appreciatively as his muscles slightly strained the fabric with each movement.

Will thought about asking the other man for a kiss. Just something soft and quick, to clear his head up. They were at that stage already, anyway. The kissing stage —and kissing Hannibal was, as Will had recently discovered, a great stress reliever.

And right now Will could really use some stress relief.

Will was certain the alcohol was lowering his inhibitions, but he didn’t care. All he could think of was the way Hannibal's arms looked in that shirt and how he’d like so see what they looked like out of it. Maybe flexing. Hannibal was fit, and Will was certain that his naked arms would not disappoint.

Hannibal watched him with what could only be described as faint, heavily buried amusement ( _but Will could see it!_ ) as Will sauntered over and looped his arms around Hannibal’s neck.

“Kiss me,” Will ordered, looking Hannibal right in the eye.

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully, his face close. As he spoke, the breath of his words warmed Will’s skin. “I’m not certain how I feel about whiskey tonight. Perhaps if you had poured a red wine instead.”

“Picky,” Will said.

He pressed his lips into Hannibal’s.

Will had been nervous when they started this thing. _Dating,_ Will supposed, though the pair yet to say the word aloud. Will was painfully aware that Hannibal was more cultured, more refined, and much more wealthy than himself. Yet, all of Will’s worries were squelched when he realized that Hannibal was indeed very attracted to him, both in body and mind. Though Will did suspect that his mind outweighed the rest of his traits quite a bit in Hannibal’s eyes —and he couldn’t deny the little lick of pride that knowledge ignited inside him.

The pair gravitated towards the bed quickly.

The kissing was good. Will appreciated the way it made Hannibal soft and tender in his actions.  He loved the way Hannibal’s lips reddened when he bit them, and how Hannibal was content to simply kiss him soft and slow for hours.

They lay under Will’s sheets, heating and rustling the bed covers.  Clothes loosening, buttons unhooking and fabric pushing past shoulders.

Will slipped his lips down Hannibal's neck, outlined the shape of his collarbone as his hands ran over Hannibal’s biceps. The muscle there was thick, and strong. Hannibal was a fit man for his age.

“Hannibal, can I—”

“Yes.” Hannibal’s answer was lighting fast.

Will grinned. He should have been nervous, but the combination of alcohol and feeling desired had pushed that all away. He took a breath, his lips just inches away from—

A scuffling in the hallway disrupted his motion. Will turned to see Buster standing the door and watching them with curious eyes.  
Will let out a loud groan. This was really not his night.

Hannibal ran a hand down Will’s back, around his ears. “Will?” he asked, and gently tugged Will closer.

Will shook his head.  Hannibal followed his line of sight to Buster. Only Hannibal, unlike Will, was unfazed.

“Is it a problem?” Hannibal asks. “He doesn’t understand. I don’t mind.”

“What?” Will’s head was reeling.  He really didn’t understand how Hannibal thought at times. “No, just let me close the door.”

“Does it truly matter?”

“Yes! I don’t want him to start humping the others.”

Hannibal smirked and pulled away. “Is _that_ where this was going?”

“I don’t know. Well, I mean _you know_.” Will cringed. With his previous partners, Will had never actually talked about the things they were doing. They just sort of.... did them. “I thought we could uh, take off our clothes —well the rest of them anyway, and then maybe. Maybe more?”

Will’s cheeks burned. Hannibal noted his blush appreciatively and watched it travel down his chest. His eyes trailed lower, too, to where their bodies were pressed.

Will felt so bare that he almost couldn’t take it. Hannibal stroked a hand down the gentle, twisting hairs at the nape of his neck and made a gentle sound.

Will melted.

Then, Buster was barking again, and Will was groaning. He feebly pushed at Hannibal’s face.

“Stop being so distracting,” he grumbled.

“Me? I would think it is you who is distracting. Just look at you, Will.” Hannibal leaned close, mouth at Will’s head, breath tickling against his ear, “Utterly delectable.”

Will’s insides tightened.  He pulled Hannibal down, and close to him.

Hannibal hummed deep in his chest. He lowered his head to Will’s neck and left long, slow kisses there.

Will’s head lolled to the side, exposing more flesh. Hannibal made a greedy sound and bit down. Will gasped at the pain that was not entirely unwelcome. What was unwelcome, however, was the small crowd of dogs that had gathered in his door frame.

“Fuck,” Will grumbled, and swatted at Hannibal’s head.  The older man was suctioned to his neck, not unlike a vampire. Or an octopus. Will pushed again against his hulking boyfriend who would not move.  

Will huffed. His poor, poor dogs watching their father in a state that no child should have to bear witness to. Will shot them an apologetic look —not that they appreciated it, or even understood it.  In fact, they all looked rather agitated. Winston and Kibble especially. Will narrowed his eyes.  He had seen that posture before.

“I need to walk them,” Will huffed.

The motions at his neck came to slow halt. Hannibal inched his face from Will’s neck, up to his eyes. Hannibal’s were narrowed.

“That’s going to bruise, you know.” Will said, cracking his neck out to the side.  He could feel the dull ache of it already.

“You’re leaving me for your dogs?” Hannibal asked.  The words were petulant, but Hannibal’s voice was not. There was an undercurrent to it that Will pretended to not have noticed. Sometimes, with Hannibal, ignoring the issue was the best option.

“I’m calling a brief intermission so that I can fulfill my duty as a pet owner —and if you plan to keep on coming over here,” Will pushed at Hannibal’s shoulders, and this time he went easily, “then you’ll need to get used to it.”

Hannibal was silent, though Will could feel the upset rolling of him in waves. It certainly wasn’t a normal reaction, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected: Hannibal wasn’t used to coming second to anyone, or anything.

Will didn’t take it personally. Hannibal loved to debate and argue, and Will had no doubt that if Hannibal truly had a problem, then he wouldn’t hesitate to speak up now. Hannibal loved trying to talk Will out of things almost as much as he loved talking him into them. Which meant that Hannibal was quite possibly wrestling with his internal monster-of-an-ego to explain that yes, Will had a duty to take care of his dogs, and yes, that duty extended even in the event of Hannibal’s presence.

Will smiled fondly at the older man, who lay shirtless, arms crossed over his chest, and scowling at the ceiling.

“I adore you,” Will told him.

Hannibal only scowled further.

Will joined his dog’s at the door frame. Winston moved forward to snuffle slightly at Will’s feet, and Buster keened.

“Hey, none of that!” His dogs had a bad habit of choral-whining, and all it took was one dog to get it going. “Alright guys, let’s go.”

Will was guiding them through the door when Hannibal spoke.

“Will.”

Hannibal was propped up on his forearm and watching Will intently.  Will waited for Hannibal to continue, but after a pause Will understood that he wasn’t going to.

Will smirked,“Won’t you be patient for me, Hannibal?  I’ll only take a little while. Or is that more than you can handle?”

The bed creaked as Hannibal sunk back into it.

“Cruel,” was all the older man said.

 

* * *

 

Will opened the front door to his dogs.  The frostchill had crept in with the darkness and Will imagined he would be able to see his breath fogging if it was any lighter out. Will jogged in place as he waited, which did something to soothe his steadily building nerves.

The dogs trekked back in one by one, all wet paws and heavy pants. Will towelled them off quickly —well, as quick as one could with 7 dogs— then crept back upstairs.

The lights in his room were now off, and Hannibal lay motionless beneath the sheets.  Will knew better than to think the man was asleep. He was the sort that wouldn’t —no, couldn’t rest until he got what he wanted from life. Will felt tingly as he slipped into bed, knowing full well that it was _him_ Hannibal wanted.

He lay there for a moment, still in the dark and quiet of the bedroom, and gazed upon the form of the man beside him. Even in the darkness, Will could make out the steady rise and fall of his bare chest. Will insides coiled, for this time they would not be interrupted.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this in an on-again off-again basis for the past 10 months, and have finally come to a point where I am happy with the entirety of the piece. I hope you are too!
> 
> Like this work? Consider following me on [tumblr](http://folieafabulous.tumblr.com) for all my writerly updates.


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